Reborn on Fertile Soil

Sergion.

A mage who began learning magic at twenty-one and spent thirty years unable to break past the 4th Circle.

A dull-witted dullard, steeped in poverty and exhaustion.

Those were the words everyone used to describe me.

Ah, one more thing.

A stubborn fool with nothing going for him but persistence.

Even though I threw a full twenty hours out of every twenty-four into research and training, my magic never improved. I was walled in, my growth halted for good — like a fortress so solid that effort and tenacity alone could never crack it.

Across the continent, a long-running famine had left everyone hungry. I was lucky: as a mage, I was entitled to two meals a day, which meant slacking off on my training simply wasn't an option.

……But in the end, I made myself swallow the bitter truth. My rations had been cut on the grounds that I lacked talent, and I could see no hope of things ever getting better.

So I pivoted to becoming an artifact maker. I'd been taken in by the smooth talk of some old man who insisted that all it took was meticulousness and persistence.

An artifact, put simply, was a tool that let people who couldn't handle mana wield a limited special power of their own. The principle was to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠engrave a mana circuit into a physical object so that magic could operate through it.

PLENTY of people wanted magical tools made by mages, but actual mages were rare among the makers. As a 4th Circle mage, I figured I'd adapt to the craft in no time and rise to become a successful master artisan.

But masters are never ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠made easily. Thirty more years passed after I entered the production workshop. Plenty happened along the way, and in the end I picked up one more title.

The Boomwright.

A nickname earned because every ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠artifact I touched had a habit of exploding.

That old man who'd coaxed me into the craft — my Master, in other words — liked to say that if I'd been born a hundred years earlier, when war was rampant, I'd have made my name as a legendary artisan.

KABOOM—!

Fortunately, once my tenth year rolled around, the explosions began to taper off. But whenever I set out to inscribe a brand-new spell, one would still go off now and then. I suspected it was because the things I engraved mana circuits onto were restricted to 'objects' — things that couldn't resonate with mana.

Then, in my twentieth year as an artifact artisan, I made a discovery: engraving magic into a 'living thing' produced no explosion at all.

But the continent was still living through the age of famine. Plants and animals alike cost a fortune. With nothing to eat as it was, who in their right mind would hand over precious food for an unproven experiment?

All it meant was that only a rare and precious living creature could take a proper magic engraving from me — so naturally, the way I looked at living things began to change.

And so, right up until my thirtieth year, I never managed to prove 'living engraving' and had no choice but to keep pouring magic into objects — accepting the risk of an explosion every single time I inscribed a new spell.

Today was no different. I was in the middle of engraving a new spell onto a training Magic Stone.

BANG—!

A blue window flickered into view — like a warning label slapped onto a medicine bottle — and in the next instant, the explosion went off. The only thing unusual about it, if anything, was that this particular Magic Stone was a bit on the large side.

KWAAABOOM—!

People had always told me I'd blow myself sky-high someday — today, it seemed, I really was going to blow everything sky-high, all of it at once.

And with the sight of my workshop collapsing into rubble behind me, I lost consciousness.

"HUAACK—!!"

I shot bolt upright, screaming. I had no memory of when I'd blacked out.

……I truly thought I was dead this time. My aged body could barely endure even one more of those explosions. Dodging nimbly, finding cover — even that had grown difficult.

"Haha, well, still not dead yet. That was probably the biggest one yet…… ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠What the? Where am I?"

Something soft was cushioning my backside. A thick cotton comforter lay draped over my body, too.

Where I'd collapsed was my makeshift workshop, thrown together from wooden planks. There was no way it could ever be this plush. The workshop boys — who'd built their own shacks as far from mine as possible out of fear of being caught in my blasts — most certainly had not come by out of the goodness of their hearts to tuck me in afterward. And definitely not under a thick cotton comforter this expensive-looking!

Besides, for someone who'd been knocked out by an explosion, my body felt far too refreshed. My joints, which used to creak and groan, moved as smoothly as if someone had oiled them. Even my hands, when I raised them to check, were wrong. Where were the calluses, the skin a morass of wrinkles? In their place sat hands that were white and soft as dough.

"What in the……?"

Had I regained my youth? No — it would be more accurate to say I'd ended up inside someone else's body.

……Was that even possible, by the tenets of magecraft?

As I stood there dumbfounded, a rush of memories came flooding into my head. Learning to walk, then kindergarten, elementary school, the moment of entering middle school. A warm and comfortable home collapsing into ruin overnight; a family driven out, branded with red stamps of debt on every side. A father gone overseas to earn money to pay the swelling interest; a mother left alone in Korea to shoulder everything herself; and the move to the countryside, to a maternal grandfather's farm, because life had grown too hard.

And then — failing to adapt to a world turned upside down, lashing out in irritability, and finally, sinking into despair, giving up on himself.

These were the memories of this body's owner. Seo Ji-on.

A bitter taste filled my mouth.

He gave up on himself at just fifteen……

Fifteen. Such a young age. A boy whose name, whose circumstances, mirrored my own. Could all of this really be coincidence?

Pity welled up in me for the young boy who'd made the wrong choice before he'd even had the chance to truly live. I was still quietly clicking my tongue over it when —

With a rattle-clatter from the hallway, the door burst open.

"Ji-on!"

A haggard middle-aged woman with disheveled hair rushed into the room, crying out. Behind her stood an old man, his expression caught somewhere between shock and bewilderment. Faces I'd just seen in the memories.

"……Mo— ahem. Mother. Gra— …………Grandfather."

I spat out titles that felt awfully unfamiliar and looked at them, flustered. I'd been an orphan for eighty-odd years — someone to call me that would have had to exist first, after all.

My awkward voice apparently didn't matter, because the two of them strode straight toward me.

"Are you sick again somewhere? W-we heard screaming."

"……You alright?"

Tears welled up in my mother's eyes as she asked. Fair enough — the choice this unfilial child had made was pitiable, sure, but it had also been a nail driven straight into her heart.

Watching the two of them fidget about, their faces carved with worry, I suddenly felt for them.

I never got to receive so much as a handful of this kind of love in my whole life — and this young fool had it, never thought to be grateful, and walked away.

Yes. The dead were gone, and nothing could be done about that. But what fault was it of the living, standing right here? However fate had decided to play its joke on me, for as long as I occupied this body, I wanted to put their hearts at ease.

Rising from where I sat, I took both of their hands in mine.

"I'm okay, Mother. Grandfather."

"……Ji-on."

I was just opening my mouth again to reassure them further when —

GRRRRRUMBLE—

Thunder struck. It was so thunderous I could hardly believe it had come from my own stomach.

At the sound, my mother's face went through a curious transformation before dissolving into a gentle laugh.

"Heheh. Our Ji-on must have worked up an appetite after sleeping so soundly, hm?"

She'd mentioned she was just setting the table, and sure enough, a meal appeared in no time at all.

Mountain herbs.

Herbs, herbs, and more herbs.

Herbs, herbs, herbs, herbs, and herbs.

Plus a stew, and a bowl of white rice.

I couldn't even sit down. I just stood there in a daze, staring at the table.

Watching me standing rooted to the spot, my mother's expression turned sheepish.

"Is it because there's no meat? We'll have meat tomorrow……"

"No! It's just — this is incredibly generous!"

And I meant it. It was, truly, a shocking abundance. All those varied dishes in all those colors, a warm and rich broth — I had never seen such a thing in my life. Rice mounded to the brim of the bowl in glossy, translucent, separate grains — I had NEVER seen such a sight!

I hurried into the chair and picked up my spoon. Maybe it was the memories, but nothing about handling the utensils — or daily life in general, for that matter — seemed likely to give me trouble.

"Thank you for the meal!"

With that quick blessing shouted out, I dove into the bowl as if I meant to bury my face in it.

"Heheh…… must've been hungry, sleeping that long."

Grandfather, seated across from me, chuckled and began piling side dishes onto my bowl.

Moving. Truly moving!

It is a universal truth that no one who shares their food is a bad person. Which meant the people of this household were good souls. And having come to live with this family, I decided I'd better earn my keep. The most useful thing I could do right now, I figured, was to help Grandfather with the farming.

Having settled my thoughts, I spoke up.

"Grandfather, starting today, I'd like to help with the farm work."

After breakfast, we dressed and headed straight outside. Following Grandfather on a loop around the village, I learned a few new things.

First.

Even in this world of advanced science, mana existed — surprisingly enough. It wasn't abundant, but a considerable amount drifted through the air, far more than I'd expected. Where the ambient mana was too thin, you needed someone else's help to awaken your body's mana circuits — a role usually filled by whoever appointed themselves your teacher.

At this density, I could form a Circle just fine with Mana Breathing alone — no teacher required.

Besides, this body was even younger than I'd been when I first learned magic. The younger the body — the less set in its ways — the easier it was to awaken the mana circuits. Which meant reaching the 1st Circle would come quickly. And once I had a Circle under my belt, a whole world of things became possible. It would be useful, no doubt about it.

Second.

The soil was fertile. According to Seo Ji-on's memories, the country called South Korea wasn't exactly blessed for agriculture. But the land I saw with my own eyes was extraordinarily rich. In my previous life, nearly all the ground had been so polluted that nothing could be grown — which was why we'd had to endure famine. If the Empire's soil had held even a fraction of this fertility, far fewer people would have died.

I was off in my own little reverie when Grandfather, walking ahead, stopped and called to me.

"Ji-on."

"Yes?"

"See that boundary line over there, in that field?"

"Ah. Yes."

Grandfather pointed a finger at the ridge at the near end of the field, then began sliding it along the horizon — a slow sweep from right to left. At the far end of its path, another boundary came into view.

"Look there. From that spot clear to the far edge — that's the land your granddad works."

"……!!"

My jaw dropped. Fertile, high-quality soil this rich, leased just for farming. All that open land, and the riot of green unrolling across it. Zucchini beds ablaze with yellow blossoms. And the wonder of it didn't stop there.

"I'd be obliged if you helped, mind, but I'll see the farming through myself. Instead, why don't you take that empty patch alongside and plant whatever you like?"

Tenant farming inevitably weighs on a farmer with the burden of results. There's no escaping the pressure — you must grow the crop and turn it into greater profit.

So I'd expected him to be pleased when I offered to help. But Grandfather had gone a step further and was urging me to grow something of my very own.

"Bit late in the season, seeing as it's summer already…… but sweet potatoes might do nicely."

"……Sweet potatoes?"

"Aye. Three or four months and they'll be big enough to eat. Digging up your own sweet potatoes — half the fun is in the harvest. I'll ride into town today and fetch you the seedlings."

It occurred to me, suddenly — I wasn't even the real Seo Ji-on. Was it really alright to accept this much?

But I quickly shook the thought away. All I had to do was give back more than I received. Ideally, I'd start by clearing the debt hanging over this family like a curse. Earn money with every ounce of strength I had, and pay it down, piece by piece.

Just as Grandfather said, there was nothing more sublime, more soul-satisfying, than bringing new life into the world. And if that sublime work could earn money into the bargain? Nothing better in existence.

Soil is close to life. Not life itself, but it cradles countless living things within it. So it won't explode when I engrave mana into it.

Granted, this was a conclusion reached on theory alone. In my previous life, I'd had neither the land nor the plants to test it.

But here, there was mana in the air — and land that had been given to me. The theoretical success rate: ninety-eight percent.

More than worth the attempt.

What's more, if the theory held, anything grown in that engraved soil would carry a special effect. By Seo Ji-on's memories, food wasn't scarce in this country — but a special food? That, I suspected, would find demand.

If this works, I won't just settle the family's debt. I can bring them wealth.

While I was lost in thought, Grandfather — who had apparently divided off my patch in the meantime — came over and asked,

"Care to come along to town? Might as well have a look around."

Town. A new place — I was curious, sure, but I couldn't pass up the chance to have the field to myself for a while.

"Would it be alright if I stayed and looked around the field a little longer?"

"Heheh. Took a real shine to it, eh? Should've cut you a piece years ago…… Alright then. Have a good look and head home slow."

"Yes! Travel safe!"

I waved Grandfather off, then turned back toward the field.

Drawing the mana from the air and engraving it into something — that was the very first, most basic of basics I'd learned as an artifact maker. Something even a beginner without a Circle could do.

Which meant I could do it.

Time to create a very special patch of earth!